Ignorant Savants

For all the benefits that come with our living in the Age of Information, human beings have yet to step beyond the great hindrance that is our personal bias. For over a century now we've lived with daily updates concerning our communities, our nations and our world as a whole - and yet we still cannot believe, standing upon the Great Inauguration of the 21st century, that the "world" we know through the media is any closer to reality than the one described a hundred years ago; and this, for the very simple reason that reporters have always preferred certain truths.

It's very easy for an individual to believe that the media is simply lying to us: all that person has to do is shut his ears and disregard everything reported. But for those with more refined tastes and intellects, the job is much harder: we have the job of digging, sifting and sorting, i.e. of interpreting the information we receive. The source from whence it comes, the audience for which it's intended, the form through which it is transmitted and the minuteness of its detail - all of these factors and more must be brought to bear upon the fact being considered, until it appears within and alongside the web and tissue of relations with other facts, points of view and situations, as "science," "journalism" or "propaganda" - in one word, until we get the fact situated in its proper context.

In short, a person who wants to really live in the world presented to him, who wants to go beyond the statistical abstraction and dry facticity that make up the landscape of the "global picture" - such a person must undo and thereby escape the influence of precisely that which got him access to the information in the first place: the purely individual bias that led someone to pluck it out of context and report it to the world at large. Not able to flat-out refuse the information received, unable to erase the existence of a fact experienced, he must nevertheless place it "in suspense" - and carry on about his day.

Indeed, the only drawback to the plethora of information today is that too many of us are so partisan with our use of it. We accept what we accept, reject what we reject, and then stand in full-fledged self-righteousness to praise or condemn that which we really know nothing about. The facts pile up beneath us, dry and gray, and the more we have the higher the soapbox on which we can stand - and still our lives are as dry and gray as the mountains from which we preach. We have lost the art of interpretation, the slow and ponderous skills required to transform empty assertions into colors, sounds and impressions - we have, my friends, lost most of the art of Living.

If you Americans want to use the word "democracy" as much as you do, you should probably know a few things about it.

"Democracy" was first brought into theory by the Greeks. The Greek theorists were familiar with, and put into words on many occasions, the idea that the majority of people were not capable of "running things" - but they were also familiar with the fact that the majority of people are prone to violent revolution when they feel they are being overtly manipulated (this being a matter of pride). So the most idealist Greeks came up with this idea of "democracy": a system in which a "bunch" of people - landowning Athenian males of reputable standing - established the laws that were to apply to "all" the people. It practically implemented the cherished idea of the Just Mean, and at the same time gave comfort and security (i.e. complacency) to those whose voices were not heard - because surely their opinion would be shared with someone in the aforementioned "bunch." Surely someone would represent their voice.

And here I have to stand up, my fellow Americans, and reiterate this tedious fact once again: that "democracy" is just as much an idealism as socialism or Marxism, despite what the British would have to say; that it was devised, and exists today, as a fig leaf under which can safely and undetectedly operate the mechanisms of despotism and unnatural aristocracy; and finally (and most importantly), that it promises equality where there is none, so that us individuals will fight against ourselves rather than take responsibility for the state of our Union.

This, my fellow Americans, is the state of the Union: you're all riled up and scared shitless. And you probably have "democracy" to blame.

Sodomy à la mode

You know, as a gay guy I've never really had a problem with fucking someone in the ass. It's often a really enjoyable experience - sometimes on both ends - and "anti-sodomy" people have quite frankly become a joke in recent years. What's so wrong with fucking someone in the ass?

Oh - oh dearest, cock-handling me, and excuses all around. I forgot about the goddamned Liberals. We all know these guys are sensitive people, and we wouldn't want to offend their sensibilities. Let's see what those sensibilities are, because God knows that Liberals can get nasty when Liberals get offended.

For starters, there's things like Enron, or Wall Street. Those are bad words, because they mean a bunch of rich people fucking a bunch of not-so-rich people in their not-so-rich asses. I can understand the case against sodomy there, although I think we have better things to worry about. But let's take Catholics - Catholics is another bad word, because a flock of frocked middle-agers decided that little boys were easy prey - and by "prey" I mean, "fuck-in-the-buttable" - by little boys, I mean "Damn, they're only thirteen." - by "frocked middle-agers" I mean a bunch of weird guys, blessed with dicks that God "told" them never to use. No wonder they took the easy prey...

But now I'm sidetracking, and probably offending the Liberals (are the Conservatives queasy yet?). The point is, if an Enron or a priest or a babysitter fucks someone in the ass, it's wrong and against the law. If a man like myself - with all my own dirty little quirks and quinks and quibbles - if a man like myself actually fucks a person in the ass, it's really cool. It's actually awesome. It's protected by laws and lobbyists and pressure groups. Feminists jump around us and tell us how spectacular we are for doing it. The President himself comes down from his world-rearing perch and kisses us on the cheek - and all I can think is "Fuck. that. shit."

If you want to tell me that having a cock, or a carrot, or a cucumber rammed up your asshole is a pleasurable experience, well hell, I'll listen to what you have to say. I bet it is, and I'd try it if not for my hemorrhoids. But if anyone with a virgin asshole - and by that I mean "anyone who has never been fucked in the ass by a cock or a carrot or cucumber" - if any of them tries to tell me that being fucked in the ass is a horrible thing metaphorically, and a human right when actually done physically (with cock, carrot or cucumber) - well damn. That kind of person has no idea what the hell he's talking about, and shouldn't be talking.

Fucking is part of Life. Being fucked is also part of Life. The ramming of something up somebody's somepart has been an established human practice for millions of years, and our primate predecessors still do it today. But this new thing, this "legislation" - for or against anyone fucking anybody - is stupid, and boring, and pointless: because people will keep fucking each other in the pooper, regardless.

So I have an idea (we'll call it an alternative): let's take all those good intentions and stick them up our asses - or better yet, since I have hemorrhoids, let's stick them up the Liberals' asses, and we'll at least spare me the pain (sorry if you're a Liberal with hemorrhoids). Take your laws against sodomy, and stuff 'em right up. Take your pressure groups in favor of, lube 'em up all slick, and slide 'em right on in. Because the truth of the matter is, people are going to fuck people - in the ass - and they're not going to feel any better or worse about it because of You Self-Righteous Pricks.

And if anyone was wondering, I will fuck you in the ass to prove my point. If you buy me dinner. And snuggle afterwards.

Hey, boy. Hey.

I'm scared to say that I love you. I'm scared of all the little things that could go wrong, and the things I could lose. I'm scared of the things I could gain - but mostly I'm scared of being embarrassed. In fact -

I'm embarrassed.

Let's be honest: I'm just all-around inside/outside embarrassed. I'm embarrassed of the way my heart moves, or that part of my brain I like to call "my heart" - it's way down in the bottom and way up at the top, and it leaks around the sides and gets gooey in the cracks. I'm embarrassed of the little nosey-snuggle things it wants me to do to you, and the stubbornness, and the silly way it laughs. I'm embarrassed, because it thinks you think that I think too much. Too little.

I'm embarrassed.

I'm not even sure you could handle that part of me. I think it's too fat, too sweaty, too fuzzy and sticky. It's got too many tongues, not enough fingers, and two big, rosy cheeks that would smother a cute little face like yours. I think it probably wants to smother your face. It wants to lick you, and tickle you, and poke at your belly. It wants to walk up behind you while you're eating your breakfast and put its head on your shoulder, so it can see what you're eating. Maybe you'll feed it some yogurt. I think it really hopes you will.

It probably doesn't want to hold your hand in public, although it might. It definitely doesn't want to go down on you in a movie theater.

I'm embarrassed.

I have a part that doesn't get to see daylight very much. It could be my own fault, and it could be yours - do you have to be so intimidating? It keeps trying to come out and play, but it's scared of the big boys and the bullies - it thinks you might be one. It's scared of "No," and "Maybe," and "I don't think so." It's scared of rejection.

I don't know all the things it would do if it got out. It might go shopping, but I don't think so. It would probably snuggle up with you and watch a movie, but I don't think you would let it. It would certainly stare at strangers from across the room, and forget to file its tax returns, and eat its own boogers. On Saturdays it would dress up as Charlie Chaplin and dance with jiggaboos in local Irish pubs, and on Sunday it would go to church as Hitler so it wouldn't have to shave. It would keep both costumes clean and pressed. Shoulder pads on Sunday.

I'm embarrassed.

It wants you to know all these things and more, but it can't seem to make me tell you. It wants you to love, and be loved, and it's jealous enough to want me to be the loved and the lover - but I'm scared of it. I'm scared of it, I'm scared of my sticky-fluffy part - and that's why I'm embarrassed.

But I do think you'd like him. And he'd like you.

Dissociating Thoughts and Actions

I often wonder whether the depravity of a thinker's life - be he a Descartes or a Pierce, a Berkeley or Bacon - I wonder whether their depravity incriminates their thinking. As a sort of existentialist, I must confess that I'm convinced of the indissoluble unity between thought and action; but as an elitist (and a principled one, to be sure), I also think that that kind of reasoning is just an easy way to discredit an unappealing argument - in fact, such reasoning is only employed to discredit those people who make really good arguments.

Bobbedy Bob-Bob-Booger

The feeling of alienation is common, all-too-common, for us humans. I suppose we have to get used to it; I suppose we have to fight it, as well. With all our strength.

It's been a few days now since I was forced (or since I forced myself?) to forsake the only person I've ever really "loved" in my entire life. I don't mean "love," in the sense that I love my parents; and I don't mean "love" in the sense that I love my friends. I think you understand, now, what kind of "love" I mean.

This - and I'm forced, emotionally, to be prettily (prettily) extravagant here - this was a man who, when I first saw him for the first time in my life, made my head cave in. This was a man who, when I finally met him for the first time in my life, made my guts swim around in a very most fanciful way - a tickling, giddy way, and you know the feeling. This was a man who, when his loving-turned-heroic-turned-loving again (and pretty!) of a mother so suddenly disappeared, told me that we were going to perform a Talking Heads song at the oldest church in Springfield with electric guitar action. At the funeral. This was a man to whom I said "Yes. Fuck yes." Without reserve.

This was the man who taught me logic. This was the man who taught me technology. This was the man who, despite all my feelings for him, would freeze my emotions, and force me to Think - and then my heart, my heart of hearts, would melt all over the floor and I'd have to clean it up.

This, my friends and family, is the man who's forsaken me.

I said before that I'd forsaken him, I know. The truth of the matter is that I don't know what has happened. He has forsaken me, I'm sure, and I have forsaken him to some degree. But I don't know who has said what, and I don't know why it was said - and I certainly don't know what's happened between us that can't be forgiven. The only thing I do know - and this I know with all my Think and Feel - is that I want to forgive - but I can't, until I'm forgiven.

I've done something terribly wrong. Like I said, I don't know exactly what - but I'm quite assuredly sure it was something terribly wrong, because I feel like a vacuum sucked out of a vacuum sucked out of a syphilitic cock. I'm not even sure that I should be feeling this way, but I do. And he's the one that's made me.

Is "love" something to be adored? Is "friendship" something to be cherished, when the losing of it makes you feel so empty? so directionless? so lost? Is - and I think this is a question we should all ask ourselves from time to time - is anyone really worth that..?

I kind of think he is. And sweetly, at that.

Suck My Dick

I would really, really appreciate it if the lot of you would suck my dick. While I do understand that individuals have individual ideas, opinions and "ways of thinking" about things, I must stop myself and say: Fuck You.

That, my friends, is my individual. That, my friends, is my way of saying "fuck you" (to reiterate). That, my friends, is the only liberty a fag can pretend to have these days. And you - or should I say "You" - can stop pretending to be my friend.

I despise your sympathy, because it's not real. I loath to hear myself "included" in some part of your "community," because it's not real. And I HATE - HATE, to reiterate - the way you dickwads try to console me -: because it's not real.

I am, and I am the way I am. If you think there's a problem there, speak up. I want to hear you, I want to understand you, I want to crush you. Because there isn't a problem there. There's just ME. Your problem, my friend, is only and simply that: your fucking problem.

Gnome Chawmskee

I do believe I made a bit of a Facebook row by posting a description courte of my feelings for Mr. Noam Chomsky. I offer this, then, as an attempt at clarification.

My distaste with Chomsky - my disgust, really - stems from the same problem I have with Richard Dawkins, Jean-Paul Sartre and a number of other "leading intellectuals" - namely, that they have all used their well-deserved renown to peddle some anti-intellectual agenda that, in the case of Chomsky and Dawkins, runs quite contrary to the work that earned them their renown in the first place.

Let's take Dawkins: a brilliant scientist who has single-handedly made some of the greatest advances in the theory of evolution that have ever been made. And what do we find him doing now? What have all his rigorous, admirable contributions to the empirical method of observation brought him to? Well, he's now made a name for himself in the anti-scientific, anti-empirical field of theology: he is attacking "god."

Now it should be recognized that intellectual integrity forbids a genius of such rank to engage in argumentation with minds that are so absolutely deprived of the ability for critical thinking, analysis and logical continuity as those with which Dawkins debates - the entire spectacle is really just comical, and does a great injustice to the scientific work he has produced. What is abhorrent, however, is the nature of his new "line of work." To see a man, whose unflenching adherance to the scientific method of discovery is so widely applauded, suddenly become engaged in arguments for and against the existence of God; to watch the spirit of Bacon, Descartes, Locke and Berkeley put to use in service of the spirits Tarsus, Augustine and Aquinas - this, my friends, is not comical in the least, but tragic.

So what is my problem with Chomsky? Well it's just this: the destruction of rational, meaningful discourse by the very mind that threw so much light on the structure, possibility and origin of rational, meaningful discourse; the rhetorical, unintelligable mashing-up of facts (to use a musical term) by a man whose best work was meant to illuminate, standardize and concretize the very concept "fact." The problem I have with Chomsky is that he has sacrificed reason to passion - and what makes it all the worse for the wear is that he has no sense of style.

I mean really: it's all good and well to renounce one's adolescent preoccupations with words in favor of more suitable "adult" themes - politics, injustice, consumerism, etc. But if one is going to commit themselves to discussing such garbage, one could at least be pretty about it.

Grandstanding for Nihilism

I doth object: to the mind-numbing timeliness of every movement, work of art or piece of legislation; to the way our society seems to run down an unflinching track of cause and effect, thesis and antithesis, without ever bothering to stop off and change the oil; to the unbearable smugness with which men condemn the culpable and criticize all that is ripe for criticism - and all of this, as though we should applaud! "On your knees, boys and girls!" they cry. "I have come to demonstrate once and for all the hollowness of your institutions, the banality of your interests, the meanness of your idols - my words will be that breath of fresh air you seek, and the revolution you await!"

In all honesty and good conscience, we cannot pretend that we are any more than entertained by such demonstrations - no more, at least, than they can pretend away their hollowness, meanness and yes: their banality.